Reality Check
by Gary Merchant
Summary: Sarah and Harry find themselves in an alternate reality. Multiple crossovers, and co written with my friend Orba The Geek.


REALITY CHECK

Harry Sullivan was not a happy man. The bullet wound in his thigh was in large part responsible for this, but the fact that the bullet had come from a gun fired by Sarah Jane was the clincher. "Owwww," he cried, as he lay in the hospital bed, trying to reach for a glass of water. "Sarah, have you always been a liability where firearms are concerned?"

"Well, I like that!" she huffed. "I was trying to save your life, after all."

Harry couldn't really argue with her, as he remembered the chain of events that had brought him here. Some mad scientist had been holding the world to ransom, and no sooner had they tracked him down, when Harry launched himself at the man to stop him from activating some computer programme, which would have brought the capital to its knees. In the middle of the scuffle, Sarah had grabbed Harry's gun, which had fallen loose from its holster and had fired a shot at the scientist - only to hit Harry instead.

Thankfully, UNIT hadn't been far behind and had taken the scientist away. Leaving Harry with a wounded leg and Sarah with a guilty look. "I suppose I can't really complain," Harry said. "We did save the world, and I get to spend a few days in the hospital."

"Don't you mean the infirmary?" Sarah teased.

"Ah." Harry remembered a similar conversation. "The Doctor told you about that, did he?"

She laughed. "Of course. Honestly Harry, you really ought to..." The air around them shimmered and everything seemed to wobble and shake, including themselves. And then they were no longer in the infirmary.

They were standing on some sort of raised dais, with Sarah helping Harry keep the weight off his injured leg. Facing them stood four youngsters in what seemed to be some kind of laboratory. "They're here, Tim," said the eldest male.

"Yes, John," spoke a disembodied voice. "They seem none the worse for wear for their journey."

"I say!" exclaimed Harry. "How did we get here?"

"Harry," Sarah whispered urgently. "Don't they seem familiar to you?"

"Well, I don't... oh yes, I see what you mean," he said. "But it can't be! I mean, they're..."

"Excuse me," said the voice. "But you should be aware that you're in a flash-back."

Before Sarah or Harry could form any sort of reply, the one called John stepped forward. "We can't tell you anymore than that, I'm afraid. But hopefully you'll soon get the hang of things."

"Hey, just a minute!" Sarah and Harry stepped down from the dais... and found themselves standing amongst a group of young men, all of them walking rather stiffly. Even their facial expressions seemed wooden. "Morning, father," said one.

"Morning, Virgil," replied an older man sitting at a desk. "Hey, looks like we have visitors," he added, nodding at Sarah and Harry. He didn't seem to notice that Harry was still wearing his pyjamas, or that Sarah was helping him to stand.

"Look, sorry," Sarah managed to say. "Only we're not quite sure what's going on."

"That's okay," the man assured her. "That always happens in flash-backs. You'll get used to it."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not sure that I want to." The two friends took in their surroundings. One wall of the room was filled with portraits of the younger men in blue uniforms, while a balcony looked out onto a huge swimming pool. It all seemed very familiar, but neither Sarah or Harry could identify it. "Look, this is all very nice, but..."

They turned to find a tall, smartly dressed man in a dark suit, wearing a bowler hat, set at a slightly jaunty angle, leaning on an immaculately rolled up umbrella. Beside him was a very attractive young woman, with long dark hair, amazing brown eyes, but dressed in a rather gaudy light blue trouser suit and matching flat shoes. She stood there, her weight on one leg, the other at a slight angle, her arms folded with one hand held gently under her chin. Both were smiling charmingly at the group before them.

The man spoke. "Mother sent us."

Harry looked at Sarah, his mouth hanging open, whilst Sarah, equally puzzled, was trying to say something intelligible and pointing, "But you're… don't I…?" but getting no further.

Meanwhile Harry was aware that their surroundings had changed again. A country motorway had replaced the spacious lounge, with the two new arrivals standing beside a rather grand Bentley. Of the wooden looking family, there was no sign. "Mother, eh?" he said. "Any message?"

"Just to deliver you to HQ, before another flash-back happens," the man in the bowler hat replied. "And that's vague, even for Mother." He directed Sarah and Harry into the rear seats of the car. Then the vehicle set off at a brisk run through the countryside.

Sarah looked at Harry. "Just what are we getting into?"

"Haven't the faintest, old thing," he admitted. "But that's the third reference to a flash-back in as many minutes. it's the closest thing to a connection we've got at the moment, whatever it is. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Sarah," he advised her. "There's nothing else we can do at the moment."

"Very good advice. Do you know, it's been quite some time since I had a ride in one of these Bentleys!"

Sarah and Harry turned to find the Doctor now squeezed between them in the back seat of the green vintage Bentley, travelling rather faster than it felt safe to do so along a tree lined country road.

"Yes, they are quite fun, Doctor, but I'd advise you to hang on to your hat. Turbulence, you know," said the bowler-hatted man over his shoulder, whilst wrestling with the steering wheel. The woman with the long dark hair also turned back to them, seemed about to speak but decided against it, smiled instead and then faced the front once more.

"Doctor! What is going on?" Sarah virtually shouted over the engine, road and wind noise, finally roused from her shock at what was occurring. "How did you get here?"

"Yes, and what are we doing here anyway?" added Harry, who was feeling distinctly put out by the odd events taking place.

"Ah! That would be telling," grinned the Doctor. "How's the leg, by the way, Harry?"

He flexed the muscles gingerly. "Still a bit stiff, but it's holding up all right so far." The Bentley took the group away from the countryside and into the city. Thanks to some superb driving by the man in the bowler hat, they managed to weave through queues of traffic, with Sarah and Harry flinching whenever they got too close to another car.

The Doctor, meanwhile, sat back apparently without a care in the world. "You know, I really must get Bessie out for a run sometime," he mused. "I'd quite forgotten how exhilarating an afternoon drive can be."

Sarah looked at him. He seemed relaxed enough, but she could see his eyes darting this way and that, taking in every detail, no matter how insignificant. "Doctor, what _is_ going on here?"

"All in good time, Sarah." He shushed her as the Bentley rounded a corner and began a downward descent into an underground car park. The Bentley pulled up between an undertaker's hearse and a yellow Lotus 7.

"Right, that's my job done," the man said. "Mrs Peel will show you the way now. I have another errand for Mother." Then having raised his bowler to them with a smile and a "Cheerio!" he crunched the Bentley into reverse and he was away, up the ramp and into the daylight.

"That's so typical of Steed," the woman called Mrs Peel said, stroking the hair out from one side of her face. "This way please."

They followed her down various corridors, passing rooms either lined with all sorts of automated machinery or people sat at computer screens, before turning towards an office where they could here a raised voice. They walked in just as a man standing in front of a desk, slammed his fist down on the table top, rattling an empty cup and saucer, virtually screaming, "I resign!" and storming out past them.

The man sitting behind the desk, seemed unperturbed by either the man's actions or the arrival of the four newcomers. His calmness, no doubt coming from the purring of the white Persian cat in his lap that he was stroking.

"Excuse me just one second," he said, as he leaned over to an intercom, flipped a switch and said to an anonymous listener, "You know what to do." before turning back to them. "Thank you, Mrs Peel. Do give my regards to Mother. That's another favour I owe."

"Goodbye. Perhaps we'll meet again," she said to the other three, who had stood watching all that was occurring.

The Doctor raised his hat. "I do hope so," he said, as she turned and walked back the way they had come. "That other fellow didn't seem too happy," he said to the man behind the desk.

"A slight difference of opinion," he replied. "I'm sure it will be resolved in the fullness of time."

The Doctor nodded. "To everyone's satisfaction, no doubt."

"Of course. Now, I believe you are all expected. Do go in." He indicated the door to his immediate right.

The three friends approached the door, which opened automatically. Ahead stretched a long corridor, and as the door closed behind them a young woman stepped forward, affixing ID badges to each of them. Sarah examined hers - it was shaped like an upside down triangle, with the corners rounded off. The emblem on each of the badges was a logo of the world, with five letters stencilled below.

As they began the walk down the corridor, the Doctor turned to Harry. "How are you feeling Harry? Not cold at all, are you?"

The question puzzled the medical officer, still dressed in his pyjamas. "Well, I... no, not now I think of it. Is it important?"

"All things are important, Harry. As long as you know what to look for."

Harry thought back over what had happened. Since this whole thing had started, for the most part they had been out in the open air, exposed to the elements. And yet Harry had barely felt a thing. Even during the car journey, he realised. They had been travelling at great speed in an open topped Bentley, and he could not remember feeling the wind against his face. Instead, the air had been still. Not even a stiff breeze.

Harry was about the quiz the Doctor further when he held up a hand for silence. "I rather think we've arrived," he told them. In front of them another door opened, revealing a large room full of banks of computers, along two walls, LED lights of all colours blinking on and off, reels of tape switching backwards and forwards. In the corner was a partitioned office. The name on the wooden door was Waverley.

As they approached this office, the door opened and an elderly man with a rather hang-dog expression stood there. "Ah, you're here. Come in and meet Mr Solo and Mr Kuryakin." He moved to one side to let them into the wood panelled office, where a tall blue suited clean cut young man stood whispering into his silver ball point pen. Leaning against the window was a blond foreign looking young man, with a bored look on his face.

The elderly man smiled. "Sorry if we've got you out of bed, Mr Sullivan."

"Sorry about that, sir." Harry managed a weak smile. "A bit of a flap on, is there?"

He nodded. "You could say that, yes." He addressed the whole group. "We're having problems with THRUSH."

Sarah felt herself go bright red as the one called Solo moved to his superior. "Should we be discussing this in front of civilians, sir?"

"Really, Mr Solo, we're among friends," Waverley assured him. "No secrets here. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

"Oh, absolutely. No secrets at all." The Doctor grinned.

"You see, Doctor, THRUSH's latest endeavour falls outside of our usual remit," Mr Waverley explained. "They claim to have control over time."

The Doctor strolled around the large room. "Well, time is my business. Tell me more."

Kuryakin stepped forward. "We've been getting some unusual reports recently," he began. "At first we thought it was a hoax, but our scientists have confirmed it."

"Confirmed what?" Sarah asked.

The Doctor turned to her, his face grave. "Fractures in time, Sarah. If I'm not mistaken." He turned back to Waverley. "We've had first hand experience of the phenomena on our way here, sir. However, I believe the problem not only involves time, but reality too. Somehow, time and fictional reality are being jumbled up. It's as if actual time and fictional time are being thrown into a pot, given a good stir and we're left to experience the results."

"So, where exactly are we now? Are you saying this office and these gentlemen are not real?" Sarah said, slightly bewildered.

Whilst the man called Waverley, sat unperturbed in his chair behind the large desk in the corner, the two younger men, having first preened themselves at being described as gentlemen, now seemed more concerned at being described as 'not real'.

Do you mind if I sit down on this unreal chair," said Harry, "I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit faint. I really think I should still be in the infirmary."

"Oh, you probably are, Harry," the Doctor told him, "but all this activity is having a reciprocal effect, whether you are actually here... or not, as the case may be."

Well thank you very much, Doctor," said Sarah as she went to aid Harry, who was looking distinctly off-colour. "That's as clear as mud!"

"I think we may be missing the point here," said the man behind the desk. "Because if this, and indeed myself are not 'actually' real, then quite what is our purpose and our existence here? Are we being manipulated by someone or something, for some ulterior motive?"

"Very well put, Mr Waverley. I was thinking that myself. But I think you may have something more to do with this than you are saying. So far our interaction with certain people and situations has been minimal, with regards to time, but we have been here considerably longer, with no change at all," the Doctor said forcefully, leaning forward with both hands on the desk, so that he was almost face to face with the man in the chair.

As he did this there was a shimmering around them and the elderly man in the chair, as well as the surroundings began to blur and change. The kindly expression on Waverley's face barely changed, as he gained a couple of inches in height while his two associates shed their fictional appearances. The surrounding computers faded from the walls, to be replaced by hardware that was definitely alien in origin. "You seem to have all of this worked out, Doctor," said the man who had been Mr Waverley. "Why don't you enlighten us some more?"

"Well, if you insist." The Doctor sat back in his chair. "You're Fictionairies. I've heard of your race before, but never met one of you until now." He addressed Sarah and Harry. "Their society has become so advanced that their technological advances have come at a price. They lost the ability to relax - I believe the phrase is 'quality time.' So they began to study other cultures, to examine how they spent their time away from work practices."

"We desired escapism," 'Waverley' explained. "Our society had become so entrenched in its technological achievements, but at the same time we realised that there was more to life than what we had. So we began exploring the Universe, visiting numerous worlds so that we might understand what was missing from our lives."

"Eventually, they came here, to Earth," the Doctor went on, "and it fascinated them. Particularly your obsession with television, and the variety of fictional programmes shown on that little screen. So much so that the Fictionaries' society began to integrate itself into your popular culture."

Sarah was piecing this all together. "Just let me get this right. Are you saying that they took some of our television programmes, and created a sort of fictional reality?"

"Oh, come on, Sarah," Harry scoffed. "That's a bit far fetched, isn't it?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, Harry. Sarah's quite right. At this precise moment,we're in a fictional bubble. Remember what I said about your not feeling the cold, Harry? That's because you and Sarah never left the UNIT infirmary. At the same time, we've been able to interact with television characters on a factual level, but your minds have adjusted accordingly." He turned back to 'Waverley'. "But you're having problems, aren't you?"

He nodded. "The fictional bubble is expanding. We can no longer control the balance between fact and fiction, hence the flash-backs you experienced. Even I began to lose my own identity as the 'Waverley' character became more dominant. It was only through your intervention, Doctor, that I could retain my sense of self."

"I rather thought that was the case," said the Doctor. "It's turned into quite a mess."

"Unfortunately, I must concur," said 'Waverley'. We knew that only a Time Lord could assist us to rectify the matter. We had no way of contacting you directly, but we were aware of your association with Miss Smith and Mr Sullivan and used them to entice you to aid us."

"I suppose I should be flattered." The Doctor turned back to Sarah and Harry. "I stopped by the infirmary to see how you were, Harry, and you were both already under the effects of the fiction bubble. I couldn't bring you out, so I had to go in. That's how I turned up in the back of the Bentley."

Realisation struck Sarah. "All those characters we met along the way - they were all directing us here."

"To our nerve centre, yes," 'Waverley' told her. "They are all Fictionaries, but could not advise you directly."

"At least they pointed us in the right direction," the Doctor noted. "Now, as to your little problem, I think the only course of action would be for you to disconnect the fiction bubble."

'Waverley' protested at this. "But if we do, we shall lose all that we have gained."

"But isn't that the problem?" They turned to look at Sarah. "You said it yourself - you've become so immersed in your fictional personas, that you've lost sight of who you really are. If you have to learn new things, then start from the basics. Learn about yourselves first."

"She's right, you know," said the Doctor. "Would it be so hard to take that step?"

'Waverley' looked to his associates for guidance, then turned back to the Doctor. "We are undecided. Your arguments are valid, but..."

"I'm terribly sorry," muttered Harry. "But I really don't feel at all well..." He slumped forward in a dead faint.

"Harry!" Sarah caught him before he fell, and sat him back in the chair. "Doctor, he's burning up, and his pulse is racing."

"What? But how...?" The Doctor knelt in front of the medical officer, who was barely conscious. "Harry, what can you see?"

Harry tried to focus. "It's like I'm almost back in the infirmary, and then I'm not. Sorry, not making much sense..."

"Don't worry about it, Harry." The Doctor patted his shoulder and looked at Sarah. "I should have realised - Harry's still recovering from his injuries, so he's weaker - both physically and mentally. His mind is struggling between his physical reality and this one, but there's too much information for his brain to process. He can't reconcile the two realities." His face was ashen. "The effects have gone beyond being reciprocal. Right now, I don't give much for his chances."

"You mean that Harry could die?" Sarah glanced down at her friend, whose breathing was becoming more laboured. "Can't you do something?"

"Not here," he replied. "We need to get him back to the infirmary." He addressed the Fictionaries. "You must disconnect the fiction bubble, or Harry may lose his life." The Fictionaries were still uncertain. "Gentlemen, this isn't some fantastical series where the hero miraculously recovers from his wounds. This is reality, and Harry could die. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

"Please," Sarah pleaded. "Help us."

'Waverley' spoke for them all. "We never meant for such a thing to happen. We will accede to your request, Doctor, with all due speed."

"Thank you," said the Doctor, gratefully.

Then the three friends were bathed in a white light, with 'Waverley's' voice echoing around them. "Perhaps you are right - we should take a closer look at ourselves."

When Sarah's vision had cleared, she found they were back in the infirmary, with Harry lying in his bed. While the Doctor hurried off to find a nurse, Sarah stayed behind. Harry was breathing more easily now, as his eyes fluttered open. "H-hello, old thing."

"Harry, if you call me 'old thing' again, I'll..." Then she saw him smile, and Sarah couldn't help but smile back. If his sense of humour was returning, then maybe Harry had a good chance of recovery.

It was a few days later when Sarah returned to the infirmary. When she found Harry's bed was empty, a nurse directed her to the television room, where he was found to be watching a repeat of some detective series where one of the partners was a ghost. A bit fantastical, but then if you compared that to travelling around the universe in a Police Box... "I wouldn't have thought this was your sort of thing, Harry."

He looked up and smiled. "You'd be surprised, Sarah. I have hidden depths."

"Well, keep them hidden, just in case." They both laughed, as Sarah joined him to watch the programme.

"You know, said Harry, knowingly, "you could almost believe they were real people."

"Yes," Sarah replied quietly. "I know just what you mean."


End file.
